Christmas in Toyland
by Vermilion Angel
Summary: It's Christmas, honest , and our boys are on the trail of a mad bomber with some deadly teddies. Can the lads stop him before half of London is levelled? More importantly, will they survive Christmas at Britain's busiest toy store?


_Disclaimer: - I do not own 'The Professionals' and do not make any profit from this, except maybe spiritually._

_My thanks to e-pony for taking my random key-mashing and making it readable. Comments more than welcome! _

**Christmas in Toyland**

**Chapter One: Bad News**

George Cowley, controller of CI5, was like a spider in the middle of an immense web of information stretching the length and breadth of Great Britain. Whenever one of the threads trembled, he sprang into action -- or, rather, he pushed a button on his desk and had his secretary send other people to do the actual springing. He was, after all, no longer young, and a bullet had put an end to that sort of thing years ago.

On this particularly chilly day in December, Cowley had become aware that a very unusual thread was trembling. There was a whisper of a whisper, quiet rumours passing round the pubs of London about a crackpot with a crate of explosive Teddy Bears. Squeeze a Teddy once, and it would say, "I love you." Squeeze it twice, and it would say, "You're my best friend." But squeeze it a third time, and a pound of plastic explosive would detonate.

Although the rumours didn't say much about the man behind the shipment, some of them intimated that he was a disgruntled ex-employee of the prestigious London toyshop, Hamleys. This year would mark its second Christmas as the country's premier toy store, and it promised to be a busy season -- the ideal time to spread cuddly terror far and wide while destroying Hamleys reputation.

x x x

Murphy was standing in the middle of the break room, eyeing a sad-looking Christmas tree. It was spindly and leant dangerously to one side. Someone had haphazardly covered it in mismatched decorations. The tall, dark-haired agent grinned and turned to the other two men in the room. "It's looking good, that tree."

Bodie lowered his newspaper a fraction and studied the tree for a moment. "Is it the same tree as last year?"

"Yeah," Murphy said, sitting on one of the threadbare sofas to sip his tea. "I think Helen takes it home and plants it in her garden the rest of the year."

Bodie returned to his paper, and Murphy tutted. Then, he shifted to address the other agent in the room. "Hey, Lucas!"

Lucas was sitting at a cheap-looking plastic table, filling in the_ Sun_ crossword. He looked up at Murphy's hail. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

"We're going to the in-laws," Lucas replied, barely suppressing a shudder. "What are you doing?"

"Girlfriend's coming to my parents' place," Murphy said. "So, she's probably having the same thoughts as you." He grinned. "And what about you, Bodie? Doing anything special this year?"

"Someone's got to work, so you layabouts can gad about the country stuffing your face with turkey," Bodie replied nonchalantly.

"Didn't you work last year?" Murphy asked. This was his second Christmas with the squad, but since he had only joined a few weeks before the holiday, he was also marking his first anniversary with CI5.

"And the year before that… and the year before that," Lucas replied for Bodie. "Ever since he started here."

Bodie didn't bother to look up; he just grunted.

"Huh?" Murphy said. "I always figured Doyle for the Christmassy sort."

"He is," Bodie replied, "which is why he goes to see his family rather than hang about here."

Murphy wasn't sure what to make of that. "Oh?"

"Bodie's been in charge of Christmas shift for about four years," Lucas said.

"He's never in charge!" Murphy exclaimed jokingly. "Bloody hell! I think I'm leaving the country this year!"

"Ha, ha," Bodie said, rolling his eyes and tossing the paper aside. He stretched and got to his feet. "Well, I'm going to see what my good-for-nothing partner's up to." He walked out of the room, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Lucas went back to his crossword, but Murphy's interest had been piqued. "They seriously leave him in charge?"

Lucas sighed and filled in one of the rows. "Yep."

"Has anything ever happened?"

"What?"

"Like a crisis or something, y'know?"

"Probably," Lucas replied, tired of the questions. "Why don't you ask him? Or, better yet, check out the event log."

"What? Ask Bodie? I'd have more luck getting a straight answer out of that bloody Polish alcoholic we've got in the cells."

Lucas snorted. "You're obviously not asking properly."

"Don't tell me he actually _tells_ you anything?" Murphy asked incredulously. "Getting anything interesting about him's like squeezing blood out of a stone. How come he tells you and not me?"

Lucas folded the paper and tucked it under his arm. "The difference is, Murph, I know better than to ask." He stood up and walked out of the room. "See ya, mate."

x x x

Doyle was in the shooting range, perforating cards with soldiers printed on them. Bodie watched from the observation window, as his partner put another magazine into the gun and resumed shooting.

"Hey, Bodie?"

Bodie sighed mentally and turned toward Murphy. He didn't feel like answering any more questions, and Murphy could be as tenacious as Doyle could during an interrogation. Moreover, the younger agent hadn't yet learnt the warning signs of when Bodie had had enough.

"The Cow wants you in his office. You don't have to go straight away, 'cause Miles is in there now…"

"Getting a bollocking, no doubt."

"Hah, yeah." Murphy watched Doyle shoot for a moment. "Oi, he's bloody good."

"Meh. S'not bad," Bodie said with a shrug.

"Not bad? He's miles ahead of the rest of us on the score sheet."

Bodie shrugged again. "Anyone can shoot in a quiet room with no pressure. It's in the field that counts."

"So, what? You mean that would level the playing field?"

Bodie smirked. "I mean, if you think he's good in there, you should see 'im in the field," he said, patting Murphy on the back and opening the door as Doyle finished firing. He shut the door and started clapping.

Murphy couldn't hear the partners through the soundproof glass, but he watched as Bodie pointed at the sheet Doyle reeled in and said something that earned him a glare. A moment later, both men walked into the room where Murphy waited.

"So, the Cow wants to see us, huh?" Doyle said, hanging his ear defenders up.

"Yeah, all three of us," Murphy replied

"Oh, God! It must be serious, then," Doyle groaned. "I just hope we're done by Christmas Day. Me mam'll never forgive me if I'm late for dinner."

"We always have our big dinner Christmas Eve," Murphy said, leading the way out of the shooting gallery.

"Presents on Christmas Eve, Christmas dinner on Christmas Day," Bodie said. "Way we always did it."

"Christ, did you just volunteer some information about yourself?" Murphy asked doubtfully. "Must be Christmas."

"Bodie? You must be kidding?" Doyle said. "He never stops talking about himself."

"I can't help it if I'm a naturally interesting subject," Bodie protested lightly. "Just because you've never done anything exciting…"

"Cheeky sod," Doyle replied.

"So, don't you have anyone to visit on Christmas, Bodie?" Murphy ventured.

"No," Bodie said sharply.

"All Bodie's birds go to their in-laws on Christmas, right mate?" Doyle interjected suddenly with forced cheerfulness.

"Hey, I don't get involved with involved birds. It's too…"

"Involved?" Doyle said helpfully.

Bodie cuffed his partner lightly around the back of the head. "Berk."

"You're the one with the word fetish."

Murphy felt, not for the first time, that he'd been forgotten. It wasn't a feeling he had exclusively around Bodie and Doyle; a lot of the older partnerships seemed to disappear into their own worlds from time to time. And it wasn't Murphy's fault that he was partnerless, either. His first partner hadn't lasted past his third assignment with CI5, not because he'd been killed, but because he'd decided that he couldn't handle the "excitement" of the job after all. So far, no one suitable had been found to replace him.

As if on cue, Doyle spoke up suddenly. "You need a new partner, don't you, Murph? How about I partner with you, instead of with this prat; might live a bit longer…"

Bodie rolled his eyes. "Murphy doesn't need a great useless sod like you trailing him about. But hey, Murph! How 'bout partnering up with me instead?" he asked, his tone belying his words.

"No offence, lads." Murphy stopped outside Cowley's office and knocked sharply on the door. "But I think I'll take my chances on my own."

"Charming," Bodie said, glancing at Doyle. "How'd you like that?"

"Come!" Cowley's voice, resonating from inside his office, quelled any further banter. The three agents looked at each other quizzically and then went inside.

After Cowley explained the current situation to his agents, he handed out their individual assignments. The controller had managed to secure three jobs at Hamleys, each to be filled by one of the three operatives before him. Murphy would go undercover in the stockroom, Bodie would work in security, and Doyle, the only one with any retail experience, would be behind a till.

Doyle stared at his file with a mixture of horror and disbelief as Cowley continued his briefing. Hamleys, the biggest, busiest toyshop in England, at Christmas! There was no way this could end well. He glanced at the two other agents, but their faces were impassive.

"There will be six others working on this, but they'll be investigating their own lines of inquiry," Cowley concluded. "Any questions, lads?"

"Sir…" Doyle started. "I'm supposed to be on leave for Christmas…"

"The store isn't open Christmas or Boxing Day. Besides, I _expect_ you to have found and removed the threat by then. So, if you apply yourself properly, 4.5, you'll be home in time for Christmas. And you, too, 6.2."

"Thank you, sir," Murphy said.

"Any others?" Cowley asked. "Good. You're dismissed. You'll be expected at the store at 8:00 a.m. sharp tomorrow for your training. Oh… and I want to speak to you a moment, 3.7."

Bodie, who had been getting up, sat right back down. He looked up as Doyle passed but said nothing to his partner.

When the others had gone, Cowley removed his glasses and leant on the desk. "I notice you've volunteered for Christmas duty again, Bodie."

"Sir?"

"This year we have more than enough volunteers to cover all shifts. You can take the time off if you wish."

"No thank you, sir," Bodie replied. "Better off here than sitting at home on me own."

Cowley nodded in understanding but continued anyway, "Don't you want to go to any of the Christmas parties, laddie? I see the notice board is full to bursting with them."

"No, sir," Bodie said again, wondering vaguely why his controller should be so concerned about his Christmas plans. "We have a pretty good time here usually. Sometimes someone brings in mince pies and that."

"So I understand," Cowley said. "Well, as long as you're happy, 3.7, it seems you'll be shift manager again. You ought to be careful, though, someone may mistake this for responsibility."

Bodie smirked. "No chance, sir."

"All right, dismissed."

Bodie stood up, restrained himself (as he always had to) from saluting, and vacated the room.

Cowley waited for a moment and, as expected, Doyle let himself in.

"Any luck?" Four-five asked hopefully. He'd been badgering his partner to take Christmas off for weeks now.

"None, I'm afraid," Cowley said.

Doyle's face fell. "Bugger! Uh… sorry, sir," he said, "Couldn't you talk to him again? Persuade him…"

"I have no reason to keep him away, Doyle. If you want him to take the time off, you must persuade him yourself."

"It's like trying to persuade a brick wall," Doyle mumbled, shaking his head. "Well, thanks for trying, sir." He shut the door behind him as he left.

Cowley shook his own head in amusement; this wasn't the first time he'd been involved in the clandestine activities of agents. Moreover, Doyle had tried the same tactics every year since he'd been paired with Bodie. Evidently, he believed his partner shouldn't be alone at Christmas, even though 3.7 didn't seem to mind.

Sighing, Cowley closed up the files in front of him and sat back with his cup of tea.

**Two: Schadenfreude**

Doyle groaned loudly as he dumped his file onto his desk. He'd be acting the part of a jobbing student, a role he'd played a number of times but never in quite this situation. "This is going to be bleedin' murder!" he exclaimed to his partner. "I'm not going to last five minutes, and then you _will_ have to partner Murph."

Bodie rolled his eyes and carried on reading his own file.

"You've got it bloody easy, don't you? Security… you'd be used to that, wouldn't you? Why couldn't Murphy work behind the till? Or Samson? He used to work for some shop awhile, didn't he? Stuck with a bunch of brain-dead kids, I'll be, plasterin' on a fake smile and saying 'thanks for shopping' every two bloody minutes…"

Bodie took a deep breath and remained silent.

Doyle had been ranting for almost 15 minutes now, and there was a good chance he was almost finished.

"Hey, Bodie?" Doyle said, suddenly thoughtful.

The abrupt shift in tone made Bodie look up. "What?"

"What did Cowley want with you earlier?"

Bodie shrugged. "Just confirming I was on Christmas shift."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Why?" he added suspiciously.

"Y'know, me mum always makes extra at Christmas, just in case…" Doyle hedged.

Bodie sighed. "Ray, will you _please_ just drop it? I am not going to yours for Christmas. Besides, I'm needed here."

"Cowley said that?"

"We're always short-handed at Christmas, you know that."

Doyle's gaze narrowed slightly. _You're a bloody liar, mate. _"What's wrong with mine?"

Bodie rubbed a hand over his face, then glanced up at his partner. "Look, sunshine, Christmas is a time for family, right? Yours doesn't want some strange bugger hanging about because his mate feels sorry for him."

"But --" Doyle began to protest, when Bodie cut him off

"No," came the firm reply. "Now, drop it."

Doyle lowered his gaze back to his files and sulked. How was he supposed to explain that it didn't feel right leaving Bodie on his own at Christmas, especially knowing how much his partner really disliked being alone.

Yes, Bodie could try to hide it, but it was obvious, to Doyle at least, that he was happier when someone else was around. Moreover, Bodie was more family to him than many of the people who would be visiting the Doyle household at various points throughout the holiday. Doyle would far prefer Bodie's company to any number of them. Perhaps, he could convince his partner to tag along for moral support… At least, then, he might be able avoid old Aunt Edith and her cheek-pinching ways.

"If the wind changes, your face will stick like that," Bodie observed.

Doyle looked up. "Bloody retail."

"Oh, you're not still on that, are you?" Bodie sighed. "I'm going to get a cuppa and maybe a biscuit if that lard-arse, Bobby, hasn't scoffed them all. Then, I'm going to go see if there is anything on grapevine about this bomber. Plastic explosive isn't easy to come by, and I _might_ know a few places where a bloke could 'stumble' across it."

He stood up. "What are you doing?"

"Following you, I guess," Doyle replied. "Unless your contacts won't appreciate my company."

"Maybe, maybe not. Oh, sod it. Let's get coffee on the way. At least, it'll be drinkable."

Doyle smirked, putting his coat on. "I wonder if it's warmed up any since this morning."

x x x

A bitterly cold wind was blowing in from the Thames, making Doyle shiver even through his thick woollen coat.

Bodie smirked at him. "Need to put a bit of meat on those bones, Ray. Insulation, y'know?"

"Well, you've certainly got enough," Doyle mumbled, his breath forming a white cloud in the frosty air.

The partners were standing in front of a fishing and sports shop in the Docklands. It was the sort of place that sold fishing tackle, hunting gear, fireworks and air guns. While Bodie speculatively eyed a crossbow in the window, Doyle rubbed his hands briskly together in an effort to keep them warm.

"They'd never accept that under expenses, mate," Doyle said, nudging his partner. "So are we going in? I'm freezing."

"Yeah, go in."

The shop bell rang as they pushed the door open, and a man with an immense white beard and a glass eye glanced up lazily. After a moment, he nodded to Bodie. "A'right, lad?"

"All right, Alvin," Bodie said, grinning.

"Who's your friend?" The old man nodded toward Doyle.

"He's all right," Bodie said.

"'E might be all right," Alvin replied casually, "but I asked you who 'e was."

"He's a mate," Bodie said. "You can trust him. Probably more than you can trust me," he added with a wolfish grin

"Aye, don't doubt that," Alvin said, flicking through a fishing magazine. "So what is it today? You got your fishing rods… Line is it? Weights?"

"Not today." Bodie glanced around the shop. It smelled of rubber and the stuff they kept the fishing bait in. He watched as Doyle peered distastefully into the Perspex boxes that housed brightly coloured maggots by the thousands and then turned his gaze toward the lines of fishing rods that split up the shop. Lures and hooks hung from the far wall, while air guns and fireworks were nailed to the back wall behind the counter.

"We were wondering if you'd heard anything about C-4," Bodie inquired politely.

Alvin laughed, a dry raspy sound, and slapped the desk. "Lad, you're going potty! What would I do with C-4?"

Doyle looked up and walked over to stand next to Bodie. Alvin eyed him speculatively.

"I know it wasn't you, Al," Bodie said, his tone remaining friendly. "But someone's got themselves a pile of it, and honestly, that's bad for both our reputations, don't you think?"

"Planning something, are they? The IRA or something?"

"No, an individual. Someone with a grudge."

"'Ell of a grudge, that." Alvin took out a pipe and tapped it on the counter, inspecting it. "But not really my problem."

"They're planning on blowing up a bunch of kids," Doyle said darkly,

Alvin looked sharply at him and then at Bodie. "Don't say much, does 'e? Then when he does, bam." He shook his head and packed some tobacco into his pipe. "All right, you got my attention."

"Plastic explosive, lots of it." Bodie said.

"Haven't heard anything. Don't know many who'd deal in that sort of stuff," Alvin replied thoughtfully, lighting his pipe. "I'll call you if I hear anything. Still at the same place?"

"That's right. Ask around."

"Aye," Alvin said. "Bad business, that. I'll see what I can dig up."

"Thanks, Al." Bodie turned to leave, but Doyle lingered by the wall of lures. Bodie rolled his eyes.

"I'll be outside," he said pointedly, obviously keen to move on. He left the shop, setting the bell ringing once again.

Alvin sat back, puffing on his pipe, "Like fishing, lad?"

"Yeah, well…" Doyle shrugged. "I'm looking for something to get 'im for Christmas." He nodded toward the door.

Alvin tapped the stem of his pipe against his lips and made a thoughtful noise, "Not an enviable job."

"Tell me about it. There isn't anything he's had his eye on, is there?"

Alvin shrugged, knowing better than to try to scam Bodie's friends. "Not that I've noticed."

"Damn it," Doyle sighed.

"How about a new fishing rod?" Alvin suggested, earning a glare. "Or 'e keeps eyeing up that crossbow."

"Uh, I'm not sure that'd be a good idea," Doyle replied, and Alvin chuckled hoarsely. "Well, thanks anyway."

"No problem, lad. Always happy to help a potential customer."

Bodie was looking bored when Doyle emerged from the shop; he quirked an eyebrow. "What were you up to?"

"Just looking at some of the lures and stuff. Why are you in such a hurry anyway?"

"Because the next stop is a club that shuts at half two," Bodie said, "and it's two now."

"Why didn't you say, then?"

Bodie shrugged. "Come on." He stood away from the wall and headed back towards where the car was parked. "I'll buy you a drink."

x x x

Doyle had never needed a drink more than he did when he finished his first day of work at Hamleys. His uniform was a size too big and felt like it was made of card. He'd found his partner at lunchtime, wearing a green uniform with a police-style cap. Doyle had laughed at him, but Bodie had pointed out that he was faring no better. Then, he'd wished Doyle good luck because, apparently, he would need it.

Bodie hadn't been far wrong. While the Christmas holiday itself tended to make people more inclined to generosity and goodwill, Christmas shopping seemed to bring out the worst in them. Bodie had had to break up a fight between three frustrated, middle-aged women over the last California Trends Sindy doll, receiving an elbow to the head for his troubles. He had then removed an irate father attempting to get a refund on a broken train set and got punched in the stomach. Later in the day, he had spent nearly 20 minutes chasing a child around the Mechano section and finally had had to stop a gaggle of teens from messing with the Christmas display.

Murphy, for his part, had spent the whole day cataloguing the Baby Sweetheart clothing range, a tedious and thankless task, made no better by constant calls for items to be re-stocked on the sales floor.

Doyle had got off to a better start but had soon become overwhelmed with people asking questions. His till had broken soon after lunch, and he'd received an earful from an irate mother regarding the delay. He'd also had a toy giraffe thrown at his head, just after another child had wet the floor beside the plush cats.

To add insult to injury, his colleague, Gavin, had spent nearly the entire day hitting on him, as had a mousy girl named Cassandra, and the floor manager had chewed him out in front customers while simultaneously getting his name wrong. At closing time, a few shoppers had refused to leave, forcing Doyle to hang around an extra 40 minutes. By the time he dragged himself to Murphy's flat for a meeting, he was utterly drained.

Doyle's colleagues didn't look like they'd fared much better. He found Bodie lying across the sofa with an ice pack over his eye and Murphy sitting on a chair looking as though he were ready to kill someone.

Both agents glanced up as Doyle came in but didn't say anything.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Fifteen stone of middle-aged fury," Murphy said. "Where were you?"

Doyle shook his head and pushed Bodie's legs off the sofa so he could sit down too. "Had to hang on 'cause some idiot refused to leave. Please tell me you've cracked the case, and all we have to do is arrest the bastard?" he pleaded.

"No such luck," Bodie said. "I spoke to some of the other security guys, and they said there was a bloke making menacing noises a while back, threatened to burn the boss's house down and that sort of thing. But they haven't heard anything lately."

"Pretty much the same from the stockroom…" Murphy said. "Christ, my muscles don't half ache."

Doyle leant back on the sofa. "Well, I can't say I noticed anything unusual."

"But, then, how could you tell after one day?" Bodie muttered. His partner glared at him.

Murphy nodded at the clock. "I have to chuck you out; me other half should be here soon."

"But I only just got here."

"Your own fault, mate," Murphy replied. "Now, vamoose."

Bodie nudged Doyle and got up. He handed Murphy the ice pack, revealing an impressive black eye. "Thanks, mate."

"See you tomorrow, guys."

**Three: The Start of Something, Anyway**

John Irving was a tall Welshman, with blue eyes and sandy blond hair he kept cropped short. He stood outside Cowley's office and took a deep breath. He had passed all the CI5 requirement exams, and now, with his clearance papers clutched tightly in his hand, he was ready for some real work. Anxiously, he knocked on the door.

"Come in," Cowley said, looking up and removing his glasses as John walked in. "Ah, Irving. Those are your clearance papers?"

"Yes, sir." John held out the papers for his new boss, who took them and looked them over.

Cowley motioned for the new agent to sit. "You start your first assignment this afternoon."

John suppressed a smile, as he settled into a chair. "Very good, sir."

"Your temporary call sign is 5.1; and you'll be working alongside 6.2."

Cowley pulled out a file and passed it to the young man. "You'll be on a probationary period as of now, and I'll be watching what happens very closely."

"I understand, sir."

"Good." The controller sat back in his seat. "You'll be meeting Murphy this afternoon. Go and get your desk set up."

John stood and saluted.

"That's not necessary, lad," Cowley said. "You're dismissed."

"Sir." John turned around and walked out of the office, heading to the agent's bullpen.

x x x

Murphy was leaning against the wall of the "Dog and Duck," waiting for his temporary partner to turn up. He hadn't had a chance to meet the new bloke yet, and wondered idly what he would be like. Fortunately, he didn't have to wonder for long.

"Mr Murphy?"

Murphy looked up to see an anxious-looking man walking toward him. He moved away from the wall. "Just Murphy," he corrected. "And you must be John Irving?"

"That's right." John shook Murphy's hand. "A pleasure."

"Yeah," Murphy said and nodded toward the pub. "Come on; I need a drink."

The young Welshman listened patiently as Murphy ranted about the stock room for a good 20 minutes before he finally ran out of steam.

"Christ! Sorry, mate," Murphy finished. "Don't usually go off on one."

"You're all right," John said. "Sounds like a right nightmare, it does."

Murphy laughed bitterly. "Yeah. Just wake me when it's over."

"Cheer up. At least, you've got it better than 4.5," John said, leaning on the table.

"Eh? Oh, yes," Murphy snickered. "I bet Ray's having the time of his life up there."

"I've got all the reports from the others."

"Well?"

"Makes zero seem like a big number," John replied apologetically. "Whoever this madman is, he's covering his tracks well."

"I've seen neither hide nor hair of anything remotely suspicious… unless you count the foreman's toupee."

John chuckled, "Maybe that's where he's keeping the C-4."

"Oh, God, I hope so," Murphy said, with feeling. "Any reason to knock that bloody slave-driver down a peg or two."

"I could convince him he's up for review by the Fair Treatment of Workers Commission if you like. That should soften him up," John said. It had been a joke, but his new partner was looking at him as if he'd just told him the secret of universe. "I _was_ joking," he added.

Murphy shook his head. "No, I think you've got it. The old man won't talk to me; I'm just one of the serfs. But I _bet_he knows something."

"You're thinking he might be in on it?"

"Our bomber'll have to get into the stockroom somehow. And there isn't anything goes on there that the old duffer doesn't know about."

"So, why would he talk to me?"

"Because you're going to persuade him to talk to you… because you're investigating me."

"You?"

"Who better?" Murphy said, a grin spreading over his face. "No one else'll even have to know."

John blew out a long breath. "All right, it could work."

"Good. Come down and talk to him this afternoon. Old bugger usually just sleeps in his office after lunch. Pretend it's all hush-hush."

"Really?" John said sarcastically. "I was just going to go in and ask him to confess."

"You never know. I've had to deal with some real idiots on the job. Makes you wonder how they got through the aptitude test." _Like my former partner, _Murphy added mentally.

"Just 'cause you've got the brains, doesn't mean you've got the sense to use them, as my granny would say."

"Your gran sounds like a wise woman," Murphy observed, downing the rest of his pint. "Come on; I've got to get back."

"I'll be there in an hour," John said. "Thought I'd better change into something smart and really make an impression."

Murphy nodded approvingly. "Here, we'll make a real agent of you yet."

x x x

Doyle had been forced into taking a late lunch and was now leaning against the counter during a quiet moment, utterly exhausted. On the other till was a teenage girl named Lilly, who seemed to take everything in stride. She was sullen and silent until a customer came close; then she plastered on a bright smile and exercised endless patience. When the customer left, she would fade back into silence again.

As another round of "Feels like Christmas" came over the shop's speakers, Lilly groaned, "Oh, God."

"It's only the fifth time this song's been on," Doyle replied.

"Eh?" She looked up. "Oh, the music? I never hear it."

"Lucky you," Doyle sighed

"I was actually talking about him." Lilly nodded toward a white-haired man loitering around the Teddy bear display. "Bloody pervert or something, always hanging around staring."

Doyle focused on the man. He pacing down the aisle, glancing about nervously.

"Ray," Lilly said, "go and tell him to move on, would you? He's creepy, and he never listens to us."

Doyle looked at the girl and then shrugged. "All right. Hold the fort for a bit."

Lily watched him wander over and take the man aside. After a while, the man seemed to become flustered and quickly walked away.

The girl smiled as Doyle came back behind the till. "Thanks," she said sincerely. "He gives me the willies."

"How long have you worked here?" Doyle asked casually.

She shrugged. "A year and a half. Only part time… my A-levels, y'see."

"What A-levels you doing?"

"Chemistry," Lilly replied, "maths and physics."

Doyle's mouth fell open, then clamped shut. "Wow."

Lilly shrugged again. "Heads up, we've got incoming."

x x x

Since he had removed the creepy old man, Doyle found Lily growing friendlier, and his life improved dramatically as she happily jumped in whenever he needed help with customers. Murphy, too, discovered his job was getting easier. Whatever John had said to the stock manager seemed to be making the old man walk on eggshells around the relieved agent. But Bodie was having less success. If anything, the shoppers were becoming more violent and prone to theft as Christmas drew near and the demand for the latest toys became more desperate.

Luckily, the head of security, Dave Phelps, had taken a shine to Bodie. Pulling him to one side in a quiet moment at the end of the day, he complimented the undercover agent, "I like the way you handle yourself, Richmond. You in the army or something?"

"A couple of years; then I found out I was allergic to bullets."

Phelps nodded. "I was in the TA, Warminster."

Bodie schooled his expression into an impassive mask and clamped his jaw to keep from laughing out loud. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. Tough work, you know. Almost got into the SAS, but… uh, decided not to in the end. Bunch of nutters, if you ask me."

Bodie nodded in mock understanding. _My partner would agree with you there._

"I want _you_ to be on a special assignment," Phelps continued. "I've heard some, shall we say, ugly rumours about someone threatening the shop."

"Rumours, sir?" Bodie wouldn't normally call a man like Phelps "sir," but he wasn't above massaging the pompous oaf's ego to get needed information.

"That's right, lad. You have to have lines of inquiry in this job; always be one step ahead."

"So, what are they threatening to do?"

"Ah…" Phelps tapped the side of his nose. "We're going to have a talk with the manager."

x x x

John had changed back into less formal clothes by the time he walked into Bengal Raj, a curry house near CI5 headquarters. He found Murphy and Bodie already there; but Doyle had not yet arrived. The new agent settled in next to Murphy and introduced himself to Bodie.

"John, mate, I dunno what you said to the stock manager, but he's been on edge round me all afternoon." Murphy said, grinning.

"I may have suggested you have a slight anger-management problem," John replied, "but I assured him that the last guy who crossed you would likely pull through."

Murphy laughed, "You never?"

"I only inferred; if he jumps to the wrong conclusion, that's his problem."

"Nicely done, mate," Bodie said. "Did he tell you anything?"

"Not much, but he's definitely hiding something. Whether it's a desire to bring down half of London or a preference for frilly knickers, I couldn't say. He did have one or two interesting titbits… But we're expecting a fourth, aren't we?"

"Yeah, my partner," Bodie replied, looking at his watch. "Dunno where he is. You want to order?"

Murphy snagged the menu from the middle of the table. "Might as well. You know what he's having?"

"No, but could give it a good guess."

"I'm having the chicken Jalfrezi," John said. "I've been in here before," he clarified at Bodie's questioning look.

"I think I'm going for a Madras." Murphy handed the menu to Bodie. "And get some poppadoms, too."

"And some Naans," Bodie said, reading down the menu. "You know what the Masala's like in here, John?"

"It's pretty good… and the Passanda, as well."

"Quite like those," Bodie said finally. "One of them for me, and a Korma for the golly, I think."

"Right. I'll get the drinks in then. What are you having?" John said.

"I'll have a larger, and Ray'll have the same."

"Me three," Murphy added. "I'll order yours if the waiter comes round."

"Ta, mate." John pushed himself up and headed toward the bar.

"Seems all right," Bodie said when John was out of earshot. "You reckon the old man's lining him up to be your new partner?"

Murphy shrugged. "Nah, I think I just get dumped with the babysitting jobs."

John returned with the drinks, just as Doyle came in and sat down. After introductions, the four men settled down to business.

"John'd better start, since we've already heard the beginning," Bodie said.

Doyle looked mildly putout. "I haven't," he said indignantly.

"Well, John put the frighteners on the stock manager," Murphy spoke up. "Said I hospitalised some bloke."

"You've hospitalised more than one, Murph," Doyle replied with a grin. "Go on, then, John. What'd you find out?"

"Uh… apparently the manager's been approached by a toy company for some sort of 'special commission.' He wouldn't say what, though, or which company, but I reckon he must have some records somewhere. Other than that, some of the team have been tracking down possible sources of the C-4: demolition companies, the military… Nothing so far, although someone called Al left a message for Bodie; says he has some information."

Bodie half-smiled. "Good old Al."

"Looks like I'll be breaking into the old coot's office tomorrow, then," Murphy said. "Should be a laugh."

"At least, he'll be givin' you a wide berth," Bodie observed. "I'm going to call Al before dinner gets here." He rose from the table, stopping one of the waiters as he came to his feet. He was pointed to a pay phone at the back of the restaurant.

"So, what did you do before joining the team, John?" Doyle asked. "Something military, wasn't it?"

"Bomb squad," John replied. "Thought I'd jack it in for something safer."

"Not sure you'll find that with us, mate," Doyle laughed. "It's our Murph's first anniversary with the squad next week." He turned to Murphy. "Any tips for the new boy?"

Murphy leant towards John. "Yeah, always watch your back around these two." He gestured toward Doyle and then at Bodie, who was just returning.

"What have I done now?" Bodie asked, settling back down into his seat.

"John was in the bomb squad."

"That'll come in handy… what, with 75 pounds of plastic explosives on the loose."

Three variations of "What?" echoed around the table.

"That's right. Demolitions company up in Birmingham went bust; sold all their equipment off, including 75 pounds of C-4 to a company that later turned out to be fake," Bodie laughed dryly. "The cheque was signed by one Mr Theodore Edward Bear."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Murphy exclaimed.

"Wish I was, mate."

"So, what's that? One pound per bear?" Doyle said. "That's a hell of a lot of deadly Teddies."

"Good news is, I think I may have a lead," Bodie added.

"Me, too," Doyle said. "Grub's up."

The waiter came over and set down four meals. The agents waited until he was out of earshot again to continue their conversation.

"This Korma?" Doyle asked, eating a forkful. "Ah, just what the doctor ordered." He looked at Bodie's plate. "What's yours?"

"Passanda. Want some?"

Doyle leant over and stole a bit. "Hey, it's nice, that."

Bodie shook his head. "This is the problem with having a partner, John. Never get to eat all your own dinner."

"You offered, mate," Doyle said with a shrug. "Any road, want to know why I was late?"

"Someone wanted a last-minute refund?" Murphy asked, earning a withering look.

"Actually, I was giving a girl a lift home."

"Should've guessed," Murphy replied. "Pretty, is she?"

"She's a teenager, Murph," Doyle said disapprovingly, "and she's been working for Hamleys for the past year. Turns out, there was a bloke a few months ago got fired for trying to sneak his own toys onto the shelves. When they gave 'im the boot, Lily says, he kept screaming about 'daddy's workshop' or something."

"So… a disgruntled ex-employee with his own workshop?" Bodie said. "Sounds promising."

"Yup. Name's Carl Wintergreen. Should be in the employee records."

"Well, I'm playing bodyguard tomorrow when the boss goes out to meet some toy manufacturer," Bodie said. "Sounds like a private concern; could be related."

"If that's true, then John should tail you," Murphy advised.

"You up for that, John?" Bodie asked.

John nodded. "Be more interesting than chasing round after the other lads, that's for sure."

"'Ere, you know; we should have a toast," Doyle announced.

"What we toasting?"

"John's first day and Murph lasting a whole year," Doyle said, raising his glass.

The other men followed suit: "Cheers!"

**Four: Closet Case**

As Doyle approached the back doors of Hamleys, he felt his heart sink. At least today he would have something to do for his _real_job. He had to access the store's employee records, something that shouldn't prove too hard.

He took a deep breath, hesitating to open the door. Even after only a few days, he was beginning to seriously hate his work. Well… he seriously hated his _cover_ job, but the hatred was starting to leak into his proper job, too, because it had forced him into his current situation.

Squaring his shoulders, Doyle pushed open the door and purposefully strode inside Hamleys, navigating the corridors toward the men's locker room. Gavin was already inside, and he grinned as Doyle entered the room.

"Hi ya. Ready for another wonderful day?"

"Yeah," Doyle replied, getting his uniform shirt out of his bag and slipping it over the T-shirt he was already wearing.

Gavin seemed disappointed. "Say," he said, "me and some friends are going out tonight. Did you want to join us? It'll be a blast."

Doyle smiled uneasily. "Uh, no… I can't. Sorry. My… um, er… girlfriend's cooking me dinner."

Gavin looked crushed. "Oh."

"Sorry, maybe some other time," Doyle said, pinning his name badge on and making a hasty exit. He almost crashed into Lilly in the corridor outside.

"Sorry!" He said again, flashing her a brief grin.

She raised an eyebrow. "Gavin?"

Doyle nodded.

"He's a nice guy," she said, then leaned in conspiratorially, "even if he does prance around like the fairy of the glen."

Doyle snickered. "'E keeps trying to show me his magic wand."

Lilly swallowed a laugh. "Shh. Keep your voice down." She and Doyle started to walk down the hall toward the lifts.

"Do you know where the employee records office is?" Doyle asked. At the girl's questioning look, he continued: "I want to see what's in my file."

"It's on the top floor, but you'll have to get permission from an assistant manager," Lily said knowledgeably. "The good news is, they're legally obliged to let you look."

Doyle nodded. "That's good."

She paused and gestured for Doyle to come closer. When he was near enough, she whispered, "Ask Camilla Fenwick, the floor manager over on board games. She's a lazy old cow and'll just give you a key. Then, you can have a nosey for as long as you like."

Doyle smiled broadly at her. "You're a diamond, sweetheart."

"Course," Lily said. "Come on, now. We're supposed to be ready for action at nine sharp."

Because Doyle was working in the plush-toy section that morning, located on the second floor of the shop, he was unable to see the clamouring hordes waiting anxiously by the main entrance. Had he seen them, he might've been tempted to make a break for it. Instead, he was blissfully unaware of the stampede that was headed his way only moments after the keys were turned.

But his obliviousness didn't last long.

Lilly seemed to have vanished in the time between the department manager's morning briefing and the moment the first frumpy matron strode up to the counter, thrust a naked Barbie doll under Doyle's nose, and demanded, "What's the meaning of this?" The woman's face wore an expression that could have frozen molten lead.

Doyle looked at the doll quizzically and then glanced at the irate customer. "Uh, sorry, ma'am… you need the doll department on the first floor…"

"What do you mean? I've brought it to you! Now, are you going to do something about it?"

"Did you want to return it?" Doyle asked, not entirely sure what he was being asked to do.

"Are you blind or something?" The woman waggled the doll at Doyle. "This is an outrage! I paid almost 10 pounds for this!"

Doyle raised his eyebrows. "Well, you should take it to either the doll counter on the first floor or customer service on the top floor."

The woman slammed the doll on the counter angrily. "See here, young man. I paid good money for this, and look at it."

Doyle levelled his gaze at the woman. "Did you want a refund or an exchange?"

"I want another doll, like this. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Then, you want to take it down to the doll counter, first floor," Doyle said sweetly.

If Bodie had been there, he would have instantly recognized that his partner was nearing the end of his tether. The woman, however, was not so astute. Her eyes narrowed as Doyle looked past her at the steadily growing queue and called, "Next." When another customer started to come forward, the angry woman shoved her out of the way. "No! Listen here, I was first! I want you to exchange this doll!"

"'E said take it down to the first floor," the second woman said testily. "Or are you deaf, an' all?"

The matron shot her a death glare and then returned her attention to Doyle, leaning forward on the counter in hope of intimidating him into action.

Needless to say, he remained unmoved. "Listen, you have to take it down to the doll counter if you want an exchange or to customer services if you want a refund."

"I don't have time for this. I want to speak to your manager," the woman replied haughtily.

Doyle simply rolled his eyes and sighed.

At that, the woman exploded angrily, "Don't you take that attitude with me, young man! I can't believe how rude you people are. There was a time in this country when the customer was respected. I shouldn't have to stand here and be talked down to by the likes of_you_!"

"Now, just wait a second…!" Doyle protested, but the battle had already started.

"Just what the hell is the problem up there?" someone halfway down the queue shouted. "I've got things to do, you know!"

"Apparently someone let the 'care in the community kid' on the job," another customer else replied. "Hey, get a move on!"

Doyle clenched his jaw. "Look…" His department was now suspiciously devoid of any other staff members.

"I'm not standing for this," the first woman said, banging her doll on the counter to get Doyle's full attention. "I want to see your manager this instant!"

"What on earth is going on here?" a sudden voice demanded from over Doyle's shoulder. The floor manager had finally arrived.

"This woman --" Doyle began to explain.

"Are you the manager?" the woman cut in quickly. When the floor manager nodded, she turned toward him. "I'm trying to return this, and this young man is utterly incompetent."

The floor manager looked at the doll, took it from the woman and quietly handed it to Doyle. "Go down to dolls and get an exchange," he said firmly.

Doyle looked incredulous. "But…"

"Just do it. Cassandra will handle the other customers."

The CI5 man glared over to his "colleague," who had just appeared miraculously from one of the aisles. "Right. Fine," he said through gritted teeth and stormed toward the back stairs. On his way, he was stopped by no less than five customers. Several more accosted him as he jogged across the first floor.

The overworked girl at the till brushed Doyle off with a wave, sending him down to the stock room. There, he found a lanky teenager who looked half-asleep. After 20 minutes, Doyle finally returned to where the floor manager and the woman were waiting.

"Right, now you can exchange them," the floor manager said smartly. He nodded at the woman, before walking off.

The woman grinned smugly at Doyle. "See there, young man. That's how it's done."

Doyle resisted the urge to smash her face in with the Barbie doll. "Okay. Right. D'you have a receipt?"

"No."

He just looked at her in disbelief and counted slowly to ten, but it didn't help. After a strained moment, Doyle gazed desperately up at the wall clock. "Time for me cigarette break," he said in relief. Turning on his heel, he left without so much as a backward glance, a tidal wave of verbal abuse rushing in his wake.

_Thank, God! Ten minutes of scheduled sanity._ Since he didn't smoke, Doyle just went down to the staff-room and made himself a cup of tea. He was in a foul mood and didn't even notice his partner coming down the corridor until he almost walked into him.

Bodie was wearing a look somewhere between amused and concerned. "You all right?"

Doyle shook his head, running his hand distractedly through his curls. "If I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to kill someone."

"Well, just keep your cool, sunshine. Can't have you knocking about the customers now, can we?"

Doyle sounded plaintive: "I swear to God and the Old Man, this thing has_got_ to break soon."

"It will; it will," Bodie replied reassuringly. "Now go and have yourself a nice cuppa. I'm off to see the big cheese himself, and the Smurph should have some information soon. John's waiting for the off --"

"You know, I've been thinking about him…."

"Oh?"

"I'm not so sure I like your backup being still wet behind the ears."

Bodie rolled his eyes. "Nothing's going to happen. Now, all you have to do is hang in there until we've got something solid to go on."

"Lord, I don't think I can." Doyle shook his head. "Thought some old bag was going to top me with Beach Style Barbie this morning..."

Neither partner saw Gavin nor heard him as he walked up an intersecting corridor. Hearing Doyle's voice, the cashier stopped and waited out of sight. Although he couldn't watch the scene unfolding just around the corner, he thought he understood what was going on.

Bodie, meanwhile, was smiling sympathetically as he gave Doyle's shoulder a small pat. "Come on, mate, cheer up. It's almost Christmas, and you've got that huge dinner to look forward to."

Doyle frowned. "Trust you to focus on the food. Sure you won't come? Mum'll be well chuffed to see you."

Bodie rolled his eyes. "For the last time, no." He began to walk away, but Doyle stopped him. The morning's activities had worn down his patience. "Look, sunshine, I know you think I'm just trying to be nice… but I mean it. I'd like you to come."

Bodie's expression softened, and he shook his head. "I know, mate, and I appreciate it. But I don't belong there, and you know it."

"You're my partner; of course, you belong there," Doyle replied. The day had already sapped most of his energy. He was tired and emotionally charged. But as much as he wanted to go home, he also wanted something to go his way. "I'd rather you were there than half the idiots who _are_ gonna turn up. Think about it… Moral support? Free mince pies?"

Bodie was taken off guard by his partner's sudden admission. Although it wasn't anything he didn't already know, it also wasn't something they ever spoke out loud. "I'll think about it," was all he said.

Doyle saw a glimmer of hope, but not much. Whenever Bodie said, "I'll think about it," he genuinely meant it. He would _think_about it and then generally come to the same conclusion as before. Doyle needed a more persuasive argument. "Look. The last four years, my mum's asked me if you're coming for Christmas. She even said she'd make you her special Christmas cake. People who aren't welcome don't get cake."

Bodie looked thoughtful. "She really said that?"

"Yeah," Doyle grinned. "Come on; it'll be a laugh. What do you say?"

There was a long moment when Doyle thought he'd won. Then, Bodie shook his head. "No, mate. I'm sorry. Maybe next year." He smiled thinly. "I've got to go."

Doyle sighed as his friend walked away. "Damn it." Then, he shrugged and made his way down to the canteen.

Still in the hallway, Gavin stood away from the wall looking thoughtful. He believed he had discovered something powerful, and his face broke into a pleased smile. As he hurried down the hallway toward his original destination, there was a new spring in his step.

x x x

Sometime after lunch, Doyle got his opportunity to access the records room. He'd done as Lilly had told him and secured a key. Now, he let himself into the dank, little room and sighed, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet before tackling the filing cabinets.

Suddenly, the door opened again, and Doyle was surprised to see Gavin standing in the doorway, a serious expression on his face. The cashier let himself in, gently closing the door.

"Hi ya, Ray."

"Gavin… what brings you here?" Doyle closed the drawer behind him, not wanting Gavin to notice he was looking under _W_.

"I saw you come in here and… well, I thought we should talk."

Doyle lifted an eyebrow. "Oh? About what?"

Gavin sighed, giving Doyle a sympathetic smile. "I think you know."

"I do?"

"I heard you talking earlier," Gavin said. "And it's okay, you know. You don't have to hide any more."

Doyle was beginning to get suspicious. "Hide what?"

Gavin sighed again. "Your true self. The fact that you're gay."

Doyle's jaw dropped open and his next question died on his lips. Instead, he said, "Gay?"

**Five: I Didn't Do It, Nobody Saw Me Do It, and You Can't Prove Anything**

Unaware of the scene unfolding on the top floor, Murphy was having a drama of his own in the basement. Somehow, he'd got himself locked into the stock manager's office. Although that's where he needed to be, he didn't necessarily want to be there all night. He had never missed his R/T so much in his life.

When he'd arrived at the office door, he had discovered that it not only had one deadlock, but three. Short of breaking the whole thing down, Murphy hadn't been sure what he was going to do. He certainly hadn't expected security to be so tight. Still, Cowley required his operatives to be "jacks-of all-trades," and after several false starts, the agent had finally finessed the last lock open with a credit card and a bent paperclip.

Now he stood silently, staring at the door that had slipped closed with an ominous click just seconds after he'd entered the room. He took a deep breath and pushed his hands through his hair before turning to do what he had actually come to do: look for evidence against the stock manager.

He started with the aging wooden desk, but found both drawers locked. He swore and slumped into the chair, running his hands through his hair again. "Picked a bloody good day to forget my bloody lock-picks, didn't I?" the agent muttered. "Bloody good operative, I am."

He sighed bitterly and shuffled through the papers on top of the desk; then, he checked the filing cabinets, only to find three more locked drawers. He kicked the first cabinet and was pleasantly surprised when one of the drawers popped open. "Well, I suppose violence sometimes _is _the answer."

Murphy rifled through the files, but found nothing of any use. So he tried kicking the cabinet again, this time to no effect. Frustrated, he tried the other one. Then, he kicked the desk. He was unsuccessful with both.

As he eyed the pen-pot on the desk, Murphy was suddenly hit with a burst of inspiration. Grabbing a pair of scissors, he jammed it between the desktop and the lip of the locked drawer before putting all his weight on it. With a sharp crack, the top of the desk flipped up and crashed to the floor with everything that had been on top scattering noisily.

"Oh, hell," Murphy said, regarding the mess with despair. He took a deep breath to collect himself and rummaged through the drawers. Fortunately, he hit pay dirt: five letters that promised big rewards if the stock manager simply took shipment of three crates of Teddy bears from an unnamed foreign toy company.

The tall agent stuffed the letters into his trouser pockets and grinned. He took ten minutes to replace the desktop, along with everything that had been on it, and then hurried for the exit. Forgetting for a moment that the door was still locked, he almost smacked into it.

With a frustrated growl, Murphy stalked back to the chair and flopped onto it, careful not to jostle the desk. "Just bleedin' brilliant," he spat in self-disgust. "Bloody, soddin' brilliant."

x x x

Bodie wouldn't have swapped places with either of his colleagues, but he might have seriously considered it. His own little excursion had been a total bust… and mind-numbingly boring, to boot. He had returned to the store before the end of his shift and spent the last quarter of an hour wandering around.

One of the stockroom staff stopped him just as he was preparing to leave, complaining he'd heard a crashing from the stock manager's office. Grudgingly, Bodie headed back upstairs to get the master key and then downstairs to check out the situation. As he unlocked the door, he could see the shadow of something moving inside the room beyond. He automatically reached for his gun, only to remember it wasn't there. Bracing himself, he opened the door…

"Murph!?"

"Oh, thank Christ," Murphy sighed. "Thought I'd be here all night."

"What are you _doing_ in here?"

"What do you think? Only I got myself locked in and… _What_?"

Bodie was trying very, very hard not to laugh.

Murphy glared at his colleague, looking as though he wanted to remove 3.7's teeth with his fist. "One sound, Bodie," he warned, "just one, and I'll break both your knees."

Bodie stepped aside to let his friend out. "How long have you been in there?"

"An hour," Murphy sighed again. "But look!" He held up the purloined letters triumphantly. "I found some evidence."

Bodie took the letters and scanned them. "Good work. I can take these in now. My shift's over."

"Yeah? Well, mine finished 20 minutes ago," Murphy replied bitterly.

"Then, let's get out of this God-forsaken place. Hey, shouldn't Doyle be finishing soon?"

"Yeah, ten..." Murphy began, then stopped. "Uh…" He pointed over Bodie's shoulder.

Doyle was stalking toward them. "Can we _please_ get out of this hellhole?" he moaned pitifully.

"What happened to you?" Murphy asked, noticing the other agent was red-faced and flustered.

Doyle scowled. "I don't want to talk about it."

A slow grin graced Murphy's face, but Bodie remained tactfully silent. "Come on, Ray, you can tell us."

"I said I don't want to talk about it," Doyle gritted out. "Let's just leave. I have the personnel file we need, and I can't stomach another minute in this place."

Murphy snickered. "Bad day?"

Doyle frowned again. His tone this time was decidedly dangerous: "Murphy --"

"The Smurph here got himself locked in a cupboard for a few hours, didn't you, Murph?" Bodie said cheerfully, clapping the younger agent on the back.

Doyle brightened suddenly, and he laughed, "Oh, really?"

"It wasn't a cupboard. It was --"

"Come on then, lads; let's get out of here," Bodie said, this time keeping Murphy from elaborating.

x x x

John was hanging around by the back door, waiting for his colleagues to appear. His first "real" assignment had been boring as hell so far, and he hoped it would spice up a bit soon.

The door opened, and he turned to see who was coming through. A furious-looking young man with an impressive black eye stalked past him, but said nothing. Then, five minutes later, all three of the missing agents appeared, each looking exhausted.

"All right, John, what're you doing here?" Murphy asked. "I'd have thought you'd have gone home by now."

"Hoped there was something to do. It's my first assignment, and nothing's happened."

"Johnny fancies a shootout in the Sindy department," Murphy laughed.

"That sounds painful," Bodie snorted. "Got your car here, John?"

"Course I have. Traffic might be murder, but it's nothing like the tube."

"Right. You can give us a lift to HQ, then. We've actually got some evidence that needs looking into," Bodie grinned. "And then… we need to pick up the stock manager."

John saluted crisply. "Right away, sir. Your chariot awaits." He began to turn, but then paused, considering. "Oh, that reminds me. I saw a guy storm out of here earlier with a black eye --"

Doyle's expression shifted subtly, and John looked straight at him. "You wouldn't know what happened, would you?" the Welshman inquired suspiciously.

"Well, there was a _small_ misunderstanding." Doyle shrugged. "But… we sorted it out." The other three men were looking at him, and he shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Does it really matter?"

"Right," Murphy said finally. "Who votes that we draw a line under today and pretend nothing happened?"

"Why?" John asked. "What happened to you?"

"He got locked in a cupboard," Doyle replied, starting to grin again.

"It was an office," Murphy said firmly. "It doesn't matter. So, who's in?"

Doyle's hand shot up. "Aye."

John shrugged and raised his hand, as well. "Aye."

Bodie sighed. "As much as I'd love to taunt you for this, I'm in."

"Great! It's unanimous. Today was totally ordinary, and nothing important happened… especially nothing we need to report, right?"

Doyle agreed emphatically, and then he glared at his partner until Bodie did the same. John just shrugged helplessly.

"Don't worry, mate," Bodie told the young man, patting him on the shoulder. "One day you'll be able to lock yourself in a cupboard and thump cashiers for reasons all your own."

John rolled his eyes at his colleague. But he was chuckling silently as he led the way to his car.

**Six: It Could Have Been Worse**

Bodie blew on his hands and rubbed them together, trying to get some feeling back into them. The wind was bitterly cold, and he and Doyle were creeping around warehouses before dawn, looking for the place the stock manager had told them about.

The old man hadn't required much persuasion, especially since he was already afraid of Murphy. Apparently, he'd met with a bloke at a warehouse to look over some "merchandise": a few crates of Teddy bears that he would take delivery of using forged documents.

The first boxes, his contact had told him, were gratis. He'd make the money back when Hamleys refilled their order. At that point, the manager would also get his cut, and nobody would be any the wiser.

The bears had been slated for placement on the shelves by December 20, and the mistake wouldn't have been realised until well after Christmas -- far too late for anyone to have done anything about it. Removable pull-tags armed each tiny explosive device and would've stopped the bears from detonating prematurely in the shop.

Doyle was climbing up a pile of abandoned junk to look through a high window. At the top, he peered into the warehouse, then shook his head and jumped down again.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Bodie said. "We've been looking for ages."

"This is the address he gave us. These places are abandoned. Our nutter probably just used them to make himself look legit."

"If we don't find those crates…"

"We'll have Cowley down our throats, panic in the streets…"

"And a partridge in a pear tree," Bodie finished.

"More like our chestnuts roasting on an open fire," Doyle replied.

"Ouch."

"He must have a van or something to haul all those toys," Doyle speculated.

Bodie didn't offer comment. Instead, he shook his head and sighed sadly. "You know, I used to watch all those parents in Hamleys clawing each other's eyes out for that _one toy_ that they had to get, and I'd laugh. Now, here I am, scouring London for some damn toys, and I don't even have kids."

"None that you know of, anyway," Doyle said, smirking.

"None of that," Bodie chided. "I'll have you know, I'm very careful."

"A true gentleman."

"Always." Bodie bounced up and down on his heels, then looked around and exclaimed, "It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!"

"I hadn't noticed," Doyle replied dryly. He picked up his R/T. "Four-five to 6.2. Anything yet?"

"No such luck," Murphy said. "We found a warehouse full of corduroy trousers, though."

Doyle gave the R/T a quizzical frown. "Uh… good for you?"

"Bloody static almost killed me," Murphy continued. "Eh-up… there's a bloke over there with a crowbar. Hold on a sec. Hey, John! Get over here --" The R/T fell silent for a moment; then Murphy's voice came shouting from it: "It's him! Don't let him get away!"

Bodie and Doyle were instantly electrified and began sprinting across the tarmac towards Murphy's last-known position, which was on the other side of the industrial estate. Bodie got ahead, skidding around a corner and out of sight. Doyle, following close behind, rounded the corner and slammed into his partner's back, sending them both face-first to the floor. Doyle scrambled to his feet and then helped Bodie up.

"Like the bloody Keystone Cops, isn't it?" John said, walking towards them. "No wonder you're the top team."

Doyle scowled at the Welshman. "What's going on?"

John nodded at a doorway. "Murphy and our suspect are in there; only it's something of a standoff. He's got Murph pinned down and is threatening to blow the place."

"So, what are you doing out here?" Doyle asked.

"Ah, well…" John shrugged off a duffle bag he was carrying and held it out to Bodie. "We reckoned a sniper would be really helpful about now."

Bodie quirked a smile and took the bag. He could imagine Murphy saying just that. "How did you get out?"

"Murph covered me. There's a fire escape on the opposite side that should get you a clear shot, but it'll be tricky."

Bodie shouldered the bag. "Tricky is my middle name."

"One of 'em, anyway," Doyle muttered sarcastically.

Bodie arched an eloquent eyebrow, but chose to ignore the comment. "Now, where's that fire escape?"

John led them to the fire escape and pointed back to where they were aiming. Doyle squinted at the target with an expression of disbelief. "Tricky? Bloody impossible, more like!"

Bodie simply grinned and screwed the barrel of his rifle onto the stock. "Nah, it's just a little tight."

Doyle squinted harder; he could barely see a person-shaped form moving behind a grubby pane of glass between some metal fretwork. "You can honestly hit him?"

"It'll be easier through the scope," Bodie replied, arranging the gun and lining up the sight.

"How do you know that's not Murphy?"

"Because Murphy's well out of sight. Will you shut up now?" Bodie rested the barrel on the railing. "I need to concentrate."

Doyle leant back against the wall with his arms crossed. He watched as Bodie set up the shot and then waited. His partner was kneeling down, back tense and shoulders up, watching through the scope for the perfect moment.

Suddenly, Bodie went still. His breathing slowed to a stop, and there was a moment of dead silence. Then, his finger twitched. The rifle fired with an almighty bang, jerking Bodie back. The window beyond shattered. There came a brief cry came, followed by… nothing.

The men waited for a long moment. Finally the R/T bleeped.

"Nice shot," Murphy said over the radio.

"Ta," Bodie replied. "That it, then?"

"Yeah, I think… Oh, bloody hell!"

"What?" Bodie shouted anxiously.

"I was kneeling in a patch of grease, that's what."

Bodie snorted, "Aw, poor baby!"

"These jeans were clean on today," Murphy said dejectedly.

"So, just do what Doyle does and get them so filthy you can't see the stains."

Doyle snatched the R/T out of Bodie's hand. "Or you could follow Bodie's example and steal your girlfriend's."

"Oh, you little bugger," Bodie grumbled. "That was once, and it was an accident!"

Murphy snickered, "If you ladies are quite finished?"

Doyle handed the R/T back and headed down the fire escape. "Best go see what kind of mess Murphy's made."

"We'll be down in a minute," Bodie said into the R/T. "Get the kettle on."

Murphy began to sing, "If I'd Known You Were Coming, I'd Have Baked a Cake."

Bodie rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up. Three-seven out." He clicked off the R/T and set about dismantling the rifle.

x x x

The four agents stood around the body of the bomber. He had fallen from the catwalk onto a pile of half-finished explosive Teddy bears and was now lying amongst them looking almost peaceful.

"Is this irony or poetic justice?" Murphy asked.

"Neither," Bodie replied. "He would've had to have been killed by them exploding for that."

"He was killed by a Hamleys security guard," John observed.

Bodie scowled at him. "I was blocking that out of my memory."

Murphy shook his head and turned to leave.

"_You're my best friend!" _

Murphy started, looking down to find that he'd trodden on the insides of one of the bears. He kicked it violently into the pile. "Christ, give a guy a heart attack why don't you?"

"Murph, you sure that was a good idea?" Bodie said, backing from the pile.

"Oh, bugger." Murphy paled.

"Shh!" Doyle said. "Do you hear that?"

"Sounds like --" John began.

"RUN!" the other three shouted, bolting towards the door of the warehouse. Murphy grabbed John's arm and yanked him along with them.

The explosion was spectacular. Glass, metal and dirt blasted into the air with a sudden rush of heat and light. As debris rained down around the agents, Doyle picked himself up from behind the skip where he'd flung himself. His ears were ringing, and his lungs burned with inhaled dust. He knelt, coughing violently, and then collapsed back against the cold metal, panting. There was a graze across his cheek and a small cut on his chin, but he was otherwise unharmed.

He struggled back to his feet and started calling for the others, hampered by occasional coughing fits. The air was hazy with dust and smoke from the parts of the warehouse that were still burning. He heard groaning a little way ahead and stumbled over to find Murphy and John sitting on the ground.

Murphy was holding one hand to his head, blood running between his fingers. "Ow!" he said..

"The ground's bloody cold an' hard," John muttered. He glanced dazedly at Murphy. "Are you all right, mate?"

Murphy glared back sceptically. "Do I look all right?"

"Where's Bodie?" Doyle asked. He waited, frowned and then asked louder, "Where's Bodie?"

Murphy glanced up. "Don't know, mate. Hope he's alright."

Doyle left John examining the wound on Murphy's head and walked slowly back towards the warehouse. The ground was becoming more blackened as he entered the blast zone, and he was growing more and more concerned.

"Bodie? Mate?" Doyle called out into the settling dust. "Bodie?"

"Oh, Lord… Stop shouting!" A pained groan came from the left, and Doyle turned sharply. Bodie was leaning against a charred pile of bricks. He attempted a grin but fell a little short.

Doyle replied with a sympathetic smile, ignoring the worried pounding in his chest. He knelt beside his partner. "You look… singed."

Bodie coughed. "I've had worse," he croaked.

"Had me worried. You hurt much?"

Bodie shook his head. "Nah, few bumps and scrapes. Oh, and a broken ankle, I reckon."

"What?" Doyle blurted in surprise.

"Yeah," Bodie gave a pained chuckle. "Fancy that, eh? Here I am charred around the edges…"

"How the bloody hell did you do that?"

Bodie shrugged. "Rifle was weighing me down. I tripped, and the blast carried me forward; only… my foot wanted to stay behind."

"Why didn't you dump the rifle, then, you stupid git?" Doyle said angrily.

Bodie shrugged, smiled apologetically and then promptly passed out.

**Epilogue: All's Well That Ends Well**

Doyle closed the boot of his car and leant against it. "This is your last chance. My mother will be very disappointed."

Bodie rolled his eyes, amused. "I'm sure she will."

"She will!" Doyle protested. "She made her special fruit cake. Uses half a bottle of rum."

Bodie whistled. "Blimey."

"Oh, come on, Bodie." Doyle switched his tone from jovial to pleading. "You can't spend Christmas here alone. It's pathetic."

Bodie laughed. "Well, thanks!"

"You know what I mean."

Bodie shifted his weight onto his crutch and leant against the wall outside his flat. "I'm perfectly fine. Now, get going or you won't get there before midnight."

Doyle moved off reluctantly.

"Oh, for Pete's sake; it's not like we're married," Bodie said. "Go and enjoy your Christmas."

"I just don't think you should be alone for Christmas, is all," Doyle muttered.

"You know, Christmas is the number-one time for suicides?" Bodie said absently, his mouth slowly forming a wicked grin as Doyle glared at him. "Although it'll be known for it's partner-cides soon if you don't get going."

Doyle rolled his eyes and opened the car door. "Merry Christmas, mate. See you in the New Year."

"Yeah, see you." Bodie waved and then waited while Doyle drove off. Smiling softly, he hobbled back inside and took the lift up to his flat.

Bodie let the door fall shut behind him and headed toward the kitchen table, where a brightly wrapped parcel sat. He settled into a chair and looked at the package for a moment before reaching out to read the label: "To Bodie, from Ray." It was a simple message, but it made Bodie smile all the same.

He dropped the tag and looked around. All of a sudden, his little London flat seemed very quiet and empty. He had no decorations, save a couple of strands of tinsel thrown haphazardly over the curtain rail and the picture frames. Even the miniature plastic tree on top of his TV was depressingly bare.

Bodie rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. Closing his eyes, he wondered what the hell he was going to do alone, unable to drink, unable to walk or drive. He was trapped in his flat with nothing to do but feel sorry for himself. Moreover, he was determined that he wouldn't ruin Doyle's Christmas by hanging around like the proverbial albatross.

He reached out to play with the label on the present again, spinning it around idly. After a few minutes, the temptation grew too great, and he tore off the neatly wrapped paper. Inside was a box, and inside that was a clump of hay; among the hay was a note. He flicked it open.

Neatly written on the inside were the words: "I knew you'd never resist." Bodie laughed and tossed the note back in the box. "Berk."

A knock sounded on the door. Bodie frowned at it, then limped over to open it wide. He found Doyle standing on the threshold, grinning at him. "You opened your present, didn't you?"

Bodie's frown deepened. "How…?"

"I knew you would. That's why your proper present's in the car. C'mon, you're coming to Mum's with me."

"But --"

"No buts," Doyle replied firmly. "Get your stuff. We're going. I'm not going to leave you here alone at Christmas. If anything, Nan would kill me."

Bodie was about to protest again, when Doyle pushed past him.

"We're adopting you this Christmas, no arguments," Doyle said, walking into Bodie's bedroom and dragging a suitcase out of the wardrobe. "So, get your gear; it's a long trip."

Bodie sighed, affecting resignation. "I can see there'll be no arguing with you."

"Nope," Doyle said. "Besides, it'll give me a good excuse to ignore my nosey aunt."

Bodie laughed, "Charming. And here I thought you liked my company."

"Not bloody likely," Doyle said, a grin belying his words. "Come on then, sunshine. Chop, chop. Haven't got all day, y'know."

Bodie rolled his eyes again. "Idiot."

Doyle shrugged, tossed the suitcase on the bed and left the room. "I want that packed by the time I get back."

Bodie glared at his partner's back, but he couldn't quite suppress the smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he turned back to the suitcase. As he started to pack, he was already humming the first verse of "Deck the Halls."

**The end**


End file.
